Methods
by Hgmuffin-stuff
Summary: Squidward plots his own demise, while Squilliam plans his own night out, each with their own methods. SquidxSquill
1. Plotting

**Methods**

_by Hg Muffin-Stuff_

**Chapter 1: Plotting**

Squidward hadn't known whether he would go through with it or not this time. He expected not.

The sack over his shoulder felt unusually heavy to his back given its contents. He put it out of his mind and mulled over the usual disappointments, unable to escape the overwhelming reality that he'd undergone each of these most heart wrenching of disappointments alone. Every forlorn glance he gave to a crack in the pavement or to a measly little sea urchin reflected back to him a reminder that he and he alone had to face this world and all the terrors it had in store for him.

And that just plain terrified him.

He sulked into an alley and collapsed to the ground, a pile of rope, his clarinet, a bottle of pills, a piece of paper, and a knife hitting the pavement with a clatter, a flutter, and a thud. Hitting his head in the door hadn't proven efficient enough, not, at least, when he was this serious about it. At best, he had blacked out for a short while and forgotten his troubles for a few minutes. At worst, he had a headache and panicked that he'd caused some lasting damage. It worked better for him than cutting, anyway.

He couldn't help but cry, and cry buckets. There was so much he could've been, so much he could've done. The Squidward he'd always built up in his dreams never came to be - "it wouldn't be suicide as much as it would be an elegy," he mused. "Why go on living when I'm already dead inside? Not even my clarinet can make me feel better now." He got out the paper, which carried a list of requests. He edited for spelling and grammar:

_"If you're reading this, I'm dead. Happy now? Well, good. You're an asshole, then. I can be close to satisfied when assholes dance on my grave in merriment. Thank you! :)_

_In any event, now that I've killed myself, I have a few requests. First, I want to be buried with my Clari. We've been through so much together, and she's always been there for me when times were tough. That, and I don't want Spongebob to get his filthy paws on her. Second, Spongebob is not allowed within 50 feet of my rotting corpse. I will become a zombie and strangle anyone who refuses to uphold this request. Third, I want all my possessions to be divided among the few people I've ever at any time loved. True, the list is a little short, but here goes: Mama gets my antique..."_

Squidward scrunched the paper up. His mom would be so sad and disappointed with him. She made him promise many times over the phone that he'd get help if he became truly desperate. He would brush it off, tell her to relax, that it would never ever come to that. And he'd promise. But his problems were something no psychiatrist could fix. Could a psychiatrist make him a better clarinetist or singer, or make the world appreciate his paintings and dancing? Could a psychiatrist get him out of his dead-end job and away from the irritations that distracted and annoyed him to no end?

Squidward sniffled and scribbled in the margin, "I'm sorry, mama. There's no way out. XOXO"

He was also giving her about four dozen of his self-portraits to remember him by. The rest were going to someone else, though, someone he'd almost forgotten about all those years ago had it not been for his intrusive, obnoxious gloating.

#

Squilliam Fancyson III practiced his exit out of his limousine in one of the many backyards of his mansion, shaking up his mix of dignified, sexy, and artsy in his disposition with each exit.

"Do you have someplace special to go tonight?" asked a butler fish.

"You're new here, aren't you?"

"Why yes, sir, I am. Thank you for noticing!"

"No, I didn't recognize you, I recognized your ignorance of the fact that I always practice my limo exits on Wednesday evenings. I do have that art gallery opening to attend. They're featuring a new artist, and they want me to survey the work and say a few words about it, and paying me handsomely for my time. It's chump change really - this is about keeping up appearances. Giving the art lovers of Bikini Bottom," Squilliam gave two light taps to his right ass cheek while pouting his lips, "what they want."

"I see sir."

"It almost seems ironic, butler."

"Ron."

"Whatever. Anyway, John, I keep thinking about how uncanny it is - this new artist who's being featured has been working in a fast food restaurant for over fifteen years, never a very successful artist - hell, he even plays clarinet - and now he's featured in this gallery."

"What is the reason for delving into all this, Mr. Fancyson?"

"He reminds me so much of Squiddy. What if he actually makes it someday?"

"Um...Squiddy?"

"Oh, yes, you haven't met Squiddy yet, have you? You probably will, I invite him over every few weeks or so for tea, and he's so envious of my lifestyle that he'll accept the offer despite our bitter rivalry. Ooh, you should see him when he's pampered. He is as pliable and suggestible as a baby. You can get him to agree to just about anything, if for only five seconds before he realizes what he's said." Squilliam chuckled in reverie.

The butler fish spoke, "I don't mean to be too bold, and don't take this the wrong way, as I do enjoy your company quite a bit, but don't you have friends you can talk with?"

"I do; they are all enormous gossips."

"Ah. I see. Have you ever given any thought to a girlfriend?"

Squilliam raised his unibrow. "Do I seem to you like I am the kind of guy who chases skirts?"

Unsure how to answer, the butler looked to the side and at the ground and said, "I...don't know. Are...you?"

Squilliam smiled slyly and pulled up close to his face, said softly, "Honey, I'm the queerest queery queer this side of the pelagic zone. You want to find me a girlfriend, knock yourself out, but I'm not keeping her."

"Ohh...so this 'Squiddy', he's your boyfriend?"

"Squiddy and I are NOT boyfriends! How can you even come to that conclusion? You're a sick bastard."

"Well, you call him Squiddy and smile a lot more when you talk about him."

"That's because I'm thinking about how much I love to hate him! And I call him Squiddy because it gives me a feeling of power over him."

"Precisely, and the way you laughed dreamily when thinking about getting him to do whatever you wanted -"

"Okay, that is ENOUGH! Get your mind out of the gutter, dish-boy! I only played pranks on him that were completely non-sexual."

"I never suggested...otherwise."

They stared past each other, a long silence.

Squilliam cleared his throat and said, "Will you fetch the driver for me?"

"Yes, sir!" the butler fish barked out, glad that there was a break in the awkwardness. Squilliam was left to himself until the limousine arrived, wondering - nay, fantasizing - just what he would do if Squidward became a successful artist.


	2. Maneuvers

**Methods**

_by Hg Muffin-Stuff_

**Chapter 2: Maneuvers**

The limousine pulled up, and Squilliam entered fashionably, though there was no one but the driver and the butler to witness. By the time they reached the art gallery, a crowd had accumulated at the doors, a crowd that gravitated immediately towards him as he opened the door slowly and elegantly, casually stepped out, and gave a sexy glance to the crowd with his head slightly askew to the right and back while he flung his left hand dramatically out to the crowd for kisses. While walking, though, he caught sight of a crumpled cephalopod on the ground of the nearby alley and felt an immediate sinking in his chest. "You'd better not ruin tonight for me, Squiddy," he said under his breath as he turned around and headed for the alley, instructing the throng not to follow him, that he would soon return to blow them all lots more kisses.

Eyes closed and well pleased with himself, Squilliam started to say, "You know, Squiddy, there is a newly discovered artist getting their works shown in the art gallery tonight while you're sitting here alone in a dirty - Squiddy?" His eyes caught a glimmer of something shiny.

Squidward was turning a knife around, staring at it with a look like lust in his eyes. "Here goes," he said, beginning the motion to thrust it into his chest.

Squilliam propelled himself across the alley in an instant to where Squidward sat and slapped his hands, knocking the knife away and skidding along the asphalt.

Squidward covered his face with his knees and arms, again crying and turning away from Squilliam, shaking a little. Squilliam was still holding his hands. "I was - I was really. Really going to." He collapsed in a puddle of tears again, tightening his grip of Squilliam's hands, yet turning his head away.

Squilliam touched Squidward's face, said, "Don't be shy. Sweetie, I know. Okay? I know."

"I don't want you to see me like this."

"But wait a minute. I see you have some rope, a knife, and a lot of pills. Were you planning a raunchy night out, Squiddy? And without me. I'm offended."

Squidward weakly said, "Heh, yeah. Woo, woo." A moment later, tears started to squirt from his eyes again, and Squilliam kneeled down to his level. Squidward whispered, "You weren't supposed to see me until after I died. You know, I always thought that I'd be somebody. I never thought I'd be such a loser!" He started to cry uncontrollably, Squilliam petting his back. Squidward regained his ability to speak through tears, and said, "and I'm so lonely, I can't even describe - so lonely I'll sit here with you."

"Hey, Squiddy, I saved your life."

"I am aware, Squillie."

"You haven't called me that since -"

"I know." Squidward stared at the ground. "Remember what we used to do? Back then, I mean." He reached his foot over Squilliam's, then locked suction cups with his.

Squilliam got a devious grin. "Ooh, you mean, like this?" He neared his mouth closer to Squidward's neck, then began gently nudging Squidward's head with his, moving in concentric circles. Squidward closed his eyes as he giggled in delight.

"Ah, that," Squidward said, still gooey inside, thinking back to summer nights and band camp.

"Good to hear you laugh again."

"Laughter is good."

"So, Squiddy...do you want to laugh a lot more tonight?"

Squidward jumped backward and said in a scolding tone, "Squilliam! Maybe you have one-night stands, but I need a relationship to do that kind of thing. You know that."

"Relax, honey, I just meant we could talk tonight. You have such cunning wit. Besides, if we were to have sex, you wouldn't pretend it's the first time, would you? You can't really say we don't have a relationship...even if we're not in one, per se."

"Per se?"

"Maybe I'd like to be."

"Well, I don't know, Squillie. You've hurt me pretty badly. Not just by choosing wild sex parties over me, but by treating me like I'm not fit to be scraped off from under your shoe. Even if it was just for show, the memory doesn't die. I was going to leave you my self-portraits and other paintings - but not all my self-portraits. Just the 350 or so that depict me as being depressed or angry or in agony in some way, so that you know just how you've made me feel, that you drove me partially to do this."

"Squidward, I'm - I'm sorry. I should have treated you better. I must say I really do love you."

"Wow...you never say the 'L' word."

"...Lesbians?"

"Right, Squilliam. In the middle of your heartfelt apology and love confession, I bring up lesbians. Uh-huh."

"So, why don't you hop into my limo and head over to my mansion? I'll give them the heads-up you're coming so you can have full access, and I'll be there with you shortly."

"That's a nice offer, but I'd really just like to go home now."

"Home? You mean that dreadful old place? No, no, that won't do. I can't let you alone, dear. You're on Squilliam's Suicide Watch now. But I have to attend this gallery opening, so I will settle for the finest surveillance system in the ocean, I suppose. Now, run along, and I'll get the champagne ready for the two of us to drink when I get back."

Squidward reluctantly agreed, thinking that he might relax some more in a warm house at least (he'd neglected to pay his heating bill, although the money was there in his account).

As the limousine carried Squidward away to his mansion paradise, Squilliam pushed through the crowd, neglecting his grand entrance or even his promised kisses. "Let's get this show on the road," he said, walking in, and looking at the pieces of the collection. They were all right to look at, and certainly he'd approved of similar pieces in public before, but...but...

...

_'...But there's only room for one new aspiring artist in this town, and his name is Squidward Tentacles,'_ Squilliam thought before he even realized he was thinking it. He'd already panned three pieces as utterly mediocre, when he noticed that there wasn't much of a following for this new fellow at all. Squilliam walked up to the artist and said, "Hate to see your spirit crushed and your dreams dashed and all, but that's the way it goes...want a martini?"


	3. Sweet Smell of Cork Grease at Midnight

**Methods**

_by Hg Muffin-Stuff_

**Chapter 3: Sweet Smell of Cork Grease at Midnight**

Squidward squeaked through a clarinet solo in Squilliam's bedroom as the hour approached eleven. He grew slightly hungry, but he quickly fed his hunger with the music emanating from the tone holes and the bell. Ah, satisfaction.

For a little while, anyway. Or more precisely, 49 minutes.

Squidward slipped on a midnight blue robe with gold trim and slid into Squilliam's fuzzy pink slippers. As he reclined in Squilliam's bed, he felt a little shame at how comfortable he had allowed himself to become in his rival's home. More than just rivals, perhaps, but still - that made it all the worse, to Squidward's mind. He picked up the bedside phone, asking for the next available butler to please bring him some hors-d'oeuvres.

"Would you like a masseur with that?"

Certainly not the sort of question he was accustomed to hearing, even with all his years in food service, but he was more than happy to be obliged. "Why not?"

As he waited for the masseur and the food to arrive, he stood and inspected the room more closely. In a case on a windowsill lay several fine, wooden clarinets. Gingerly, he took one that was to his liking and drew it towards his body, applying cork grease to the porous joints to ease assembly (not one that had been played very often, it seemed). As the smell of newly upholstered hint of mint petroleum wafted through the room, he looked both ways and rolled it along his lips.

He selected a reed from the shelf, gave it a tender lick, and fastened it lovingly with a gold-plated ligature. Without a second thought, he brought it to his mouth and improvised, not taking notice as the masseur arrived, butler in tow with trays of hors-d'oeuvres. They remained in the doorway, completely in silence, not wishing to disturb him in the middle of playing. If he was anything like Squilliam, and he was, this was a wise decision.

#

Squilliam had nearly forgotten the pleasures of completely destroying the spirits of the hopelessly naïve. That is, until he saw the look of that young frycook slash failed artist in tears groveling at his feet, begging Squilliam to help him become a better artist. Perhaps this was why he enjoyed Squiddy's company so much. His old flame would never throw himself to the floor in tears simply over a few critical remarks of his works. Sure, he could be made to grovel, but not for such trivial matters. Squidward would've been far more likely to say, "fuck you" than "I want to be just like you," even if he meant the latter.

"No dice; now, if you'll excuse me, I have music to make." With a glance to the doors and a snap of his suction cups, his chauffeur arrived and pried the devastated artist's fins off of Squilliam's tentacles and led him to his limousine. "Toodle-oo, fellow patrons of the arts! Until we meet again," Squilliam blew a quiet, breathy kiss and gave a shy expression before disappearing into the vehicle.

Squilliam stepped stridently through the familiar halls of his mansion. "Squiddy? Are you in here?" Squilliam asked, casting his question to the open air, peering into one of his many entertainment rooms. "Maybe he's asleep already." No, he knew Squidward much better than that. Nevertheless, he checked the guest bedrooms, calling out his pet name as he perused the various chambers. "Well, he wouldn't dare go into my -" his jaw dropped, unibrow furrowed, as he gazed upon Squidward standing next to his bed, playing one of his most valuable clarinets (rather well for Squidward, actually), with a masseur and a butler standing beside him at the doorway.

The sight was actually quite breathtaking. Squidward, in a magnificent robe, playing to his heart's content on a fine instrument, oblivious to his surroundings. Squilliam gasped a bit, having forgotten to breathe. He hadn't imagined that he'd witness this. In his bedroom. So soon. The elegance of undress, captured perfectly in his now lightly swaying form. Squilliam smiled sweetly. The love of his life, living under some delusion that he may become a concert clarinetist one day, here playing out his delusion with great depth of vibrato.

He had never wanted him more.

Squilliam stealthily approached his bed and, clutching Squidward's clarinet, sat at the foot of the bed beside him. "Mind if I join you?"

Squidward put down the clarinet. "Oh, Squilliam, it's you. Sure, go ahead."

Squidward was about to resume, but not before Squilliam placed a hand on shoulder and guided him to sit on the bed. "Please," Squilliam said, not pleading but insisting as he scooted closer to him, "I don't want to sit here all alone, do I?" Squidward simply nodded as they each raised their clarinets, Squilliam tickling the back of Squidward's foot with one of his. Taking a quick pause from playing, Squilliam kissed Squidward's cheek sloppily, causing Squidward to squeak very loudly, then splutter, hardly able to produce a sound.

He slowly lowered the clarinet. "Are you trying to seduce me, Squilliam?"

'_Well, duh?'_ thought Squilliam. _'Fuck, that doesn't help things.'_ "Squiddy, you want some food or something?" he said, reaching for the hors-d'oeuvres.

"Actually, I am kind of hungry, but I'd really like you to answer my -"

"Ooh! These are simply divine - you must try them," Squilliam said, stuffing anemone dumplings down Squidward's throat before he could insist on frankness about his motives. "Aren't they wonderful? Not the best taste in the ocean - but very good. You'll always be my favorite, though." Squidward's face flushed a hot crimson as he tensely chewed the food in his mouth. "Oh, that's right, darling, you get nervous when I bring up the hot, passionate sex we had. Why is that, Squiddy?"

Squidward swallowed the mounds of food Squilliam had shoved down his gullet in a single swallow. "Uh..."

"Did you not like it?"

"You know damn well that I liked it, you sexy bastard," Squidward said, sipping some champagne as Squilliam poured him a glass. He wasn't about to get taken in by Squilliam's mind games; that was for damn sure.

"We can go back to the way we were - only better. I can make things even better."

Squidward looked away, only one pupil darting back to steal a glance. Squilliam was irresistibly cute with his pleading eyes and unibrow, so much so that Squidward began to wonder if it was worth fighting his impulses any longer.

He sipped his champagne. Mm. A very fine import. "Better how?"

Squilliam's eyes brightened. "I'll cherish the time we're together as if it's our last, because well, you know, Squiddy, I'm not as young as I used to be," he said, eyes dimming.

"Stupid, you're never as young as you used to be," Squidward said with a teasing smile, even while he recognized that the tired cliché applied to him as well.

Leave it to good ol' Squiddy to call the esteemed Squilliam Fancyson III 'stupid'. In a voice almost tearful, almost breaking, he said, "I love you, Squidward."

"You already said that tonight."

"I know. Earlier I was apologizing. This...is to show you I really mean it." He stroked Squidward's legs slowly, gently, suction cups caressing tender, gravel grazed flesh as he stared into Squidward's eyes. He wasn't sure what he was going to do next - maybe kiss Squidward softly, maybe a little roughly, or maybe he'd keep staring and tell him a little humorous nothing fluff anecdote. Or maybe he'd keep stroking up a little further and they could make tonight a little more interesting.

Of all the things that could have happened, the last thing he was expecting was to end up pinned on the ground, Squidward attacking his neck with kisses and teasing his flesh with his teeth. Once it had happened, though, he was quite content and did little to dissuade him. But he certainly wasn't about to encourage the eager little bastard.

"Oh...my robe is constricting me, please, do something about it, Squiddy."

Okay, so maybe a little encouraging.


	4. Preferences

Methods

by Hg Muffin-Stuff

Chapter 4: Preferences

Squidward opened his eyes a crack. There was Squilliam, bath towel around his waist, surveying himself in front of his bureau mirror. And Squidward? He looked down, to see sheets haphazardly strewn about the bed and intertwined with Squilliam's abandoned robe, as well as the robe Squidward had donned the previous night. No towel around his naked waist, though.

'_What did we do?'_ Squidward thought to himself._ 'Oh, right - I pitched him onto the ground and begged him for sex.'_

Squidward closed his eyes again and remembered the way Squilliam touched his face in the alley and said, _"Don't be shy. Sweetie, I know. Okay? I know."_

"_I should have treated you better. I must say I really do love you."_

"_I'll cherish the time we're together as if it's our last."_

Squilliam's soft words and kind touch lingered in his head. How they'd locked suction cups and massaged each other's foreheads, how he'd once whispered that he'd always be there for Squidward.

'_It's not so bad. Squilliam's good in bed, anyway.'_

It wasn't just 'not so bad'. It was quite good. Squidward giggled slightly, giddily. Squilliam. How many years had it been?

"Oh, Squiddy darling, you're awake!" said Squilliam sweetly, now in his robe. "Here, put this on," he said, handing Squidward a box. "I had it tailored for you last night. It's a very fine suit, cost a fortune." He chuckled. Squilliam always did love a good opportunity to flaunt his wealth and the fabulous lifestyle he bought with it.

Gingerly undoing the strings around the box, he gasped upon sight of it and exclaimed, "Manta Raymani, oh, Squilliam, this _is_ fine." He kissed Squilliam's cheek quickly yet passionately.

"Well," Squilliam said, bashfully batting his eyelashes at Squidward, "I do what I can." He sat beside his old flame, who was currently too awestruck to put on his new outfit. "Aren't you going to try it on?"

"Oh, sure!" Squidward said, daintily grasping at the dove grey pants. "I've never had anything quite this fancy," he said, admiring the light grey double-breasted jacket of six buttons, a narrow, peaked lapel with a high gorge. Matching vest, gently folded cravat and diamond-studded tie pin, jacket sleeve with four functional buttons, two slightly off-center. A belt with slick silver buckle. White single cuff shirt, sapphire studded cuff links, detachable wing collar. Truly marvelous.

"Well? Are you or aren't you?" prodded Squilliam. Squidward blushed. "Squidward, you're not thinking about the suit anymore, are you?"

"Yes, I'm not," he said, his mind distracted as he smiled and laughed giddily.

"Squiddy...do you remember what happened last night?"

"Oh, sure I do. Wanna kiss me?"

"Mmm, yes, I do, but you need to understand something. Last night, when we were getting ready to have sex, it occurred to me that you'd just tried to kill yourself that night."

"Great thinking, Squillie...don't hold your breath waiting for that Nobel Prize."

Squilliam narrowed his eyes and resisted the temptation to return with a zinger about Squidward's failed artistic career, given the circumstances of their meeting. "And I thought, 'well, he's depressed, so he might be doing this out of loneliness and desperation.'"

Squidward blinked. "So how was it?"

Squilliam gave Squidward's feet an annoyed tap. "Idiot! I didn't fuck you. You were too fucked up." Vulnerable. That was the word. His Squiddy had been extremely helpless, and vulnerable - and desirable. Squilliam shook the thoughts from his mind. It had taken an iron will to keep him from taking up Squidward's offer, particularly as he wasn't really that drunk and he had been hot and oh so willing. Was still hot and oh so willing. At least he was hot.

Squidward sniffled back the tears that began to well up in his eyes. Squilliam had, out of consideration of his fragile psyche, delayed gratification, even though he hadn't been certain that it was necessary to do so. Even so, he had taken that precautionary measure for Squidward's sake.

Why cause Squilliam frustration for his good deed by telling him he still wanted it and it was all for nothing?

"You did the right thing, Squilliam, because I really would've regretted it." Squidward put a hand on Squilliam's shoulder and kissed his cheek. Squidward swooned slightly and fell back against Squilliam's bed.

Several minutes passed and Squilliam returned from his shower. "Oh. You're still...here," said Squilliam, staring at Squidward's nude body lying on his bed.

"What about Squilliam's Suicide Watch? Or was that just a line to get me into bed that backfired when your conscience turned on - for once something else of yours working besides your libido?"

"Oh, right. That. Sometimes I forget how fragile you can be, Squiddy. I have a hard time thinking of the fiery, won't-take-shit-from-no one Squidward Tentacles as suicidal. Are you feeling okay now?"

"Just the same I guess," he said, nudging the box that held his new suit with one of his tentacles.

Squilliam jumped onto the bed, on top of Squidward, hugging him tightly. "Please don't leave me Squiddy! You're so beautiful and I love you and I don't know what life would be without you around."

"Squilliam, what the hell is wrong with you? I didn't say I was going to kill myself, calm down."

"If you seriously planned to kill yourself now, you wouldn't tell me, now would you?"

Squidward rolled his eyes. "I suppose not."

"Squidward..." He left the name hanging between them as he leaned inward to kiss his treasure, who still tasted vaguely like cork grease. Squidward pulled at his tongue, Squilliam exploring Squidward's mouth in half-moon scoops and tender teasing nibbles. He withdrew, touched lips to ear, and said, "You want to give me the best sex of my life?"

Squidward nodded. "I want you so bad, honey."

Straddling Squidward's chest, he pulled off and tossed aside his robe in a single motion as he said, "You know how I like it, doncha Squiddy?"

"Nice and gentle, smooth as silk."

Squilliam gave Squidward a teasing lick to his neck. "That's a good boy," he said, sliding his back against Squidward's chest, reaching his arms backward to grip Squidward's ass with suction cupped hands. "Now make me squeal like nobody's business."

To be honest, Squidward was the only one who really knew how to deliver for Squilliam. Sure, others could make him orgasm, and yeah, some were really good in bed. But nobody else really could satisfy him with the same transcendent passion as Squidward could. The best part was, each time with Squidward was utterly unique. He didn't appear to rely on a trademark move, either that or he had so many that it was impossible to tell.

Squidward was the only one he'd ever really been completely honest with about his preferences, even if it had taken years to get there. Among his other lovers, he had a reputation of liking it rough, of topping, and most of all, always getting exactly the thing he wants.

"Squilliam, ooh, little faster, please?"

"Sure baby!" _'Damn it, Squiddy, you're riding me ragged!'_

"Woo! Now it's Ah! A party!" Squidward began to giggle uncontrollably.

'_He sure seems happy. I love hearing him laugh like that,'_ Squilliam thought, stroking Squidward's thighs with an intermittent tenderness as he gasped through intensifying thrusts.

Maybe not completely honest.


	5. Seduction

**Methods**

_by Hg Muffin-Stuff_

**Chapter 5: Seduction**

Squidward laid on top of and inside of Squilliam, a contented smile drawing his lips apart, while Squilliam laid with his mouth hung open a bit, still panting breathlessly in his lover's embrace.

"I was goood...wasn't I, Squiddy?"

Squidward simply squeezed him tighter, an action that brought a slight yelp from Squilliam. "Holy flying fucking fish yeah." He kissed Squilliam's cheek tenderly. They hadn't quite regained their rhythm from the years they dated, but what they had found was quite resplendent indeed. Not to mention, Squilliam was a total softie in bed, and he loved that side of him.

Squilliam curled his lower tentacles around Squidward's, at first locking suction cups with his, then slowly dragging across his legs, eliciting a shudder from his love. "You like that, don't you?" As Squidward was about to reply, Squilliam slid out of his grasp and turned himself around to sit up and face him. "Sorry, you know what a tease I am," he said, patting Squidward's cheek.

What Squilliam really wanted to do by that point was look at Squidward's paintings, give him tips about how to make them salable, but he knew that Squidward would be extremely resistant to any advice. He needed to find precisely the most ego-stroking way to couch his criticisms, if he wanted to mold Squidward into a success. He said, "So you mentioned you had some paintings for me, Squiddy."

After reviewing Squidward's paintings, Squidward getting a little annoyed as well as flattered by Squilliam's criticisms, they returned to Squilliam's mansion, where Squilliam showed him a large bedroom (as large and elaborate as Squilliam's, yet bare of furnishings).

"Paint for me." Squilliam extended a hand out to him, clutching a small brush, some barrels with tubes of the finest paints sitting in the middle of the room next to a large palette. The entire walls were blank canvas. Some ladders stood at various heights along the walls.

Squidward crossed his arms. "Why?"

Squilliam says, "To make it beautiful, of course. Silly darling," he tugged on Squidward's lips.

"Should I do something romantic, or impressionistic, or post-modern, or surrealistic, or -"

Squilliam cut him off, saying, "I really don't care, honey, you're the one who's going to be living with it."

Squidward stayed in a furnished guest room across from Squilliam's bedroom, Squilliam bringing him extra amenities such as a bed sheet temperature controller, fresh herbs and flowers, new drapes, candles, and the like each day, none of which Squidward thought were necessary, but all of which he appreciated.

Apart from painting the room, he enjoyed meals with Squilliam, who on the third day invited him to take a break and play badminton with him. He at first declined in favor of painting, but Squilliam told him he really should get out sometimes too. "Besides, it'll be fun," he'd said with a smile and a devilish wink. So Squidward had reluctantly pulled himself away from his painting and played a fierce game of badminton. Well, fierce when compared to Squilliam, who was possibly the worst badminton player in Bikini Bottom. "Have you really had your ego stroked so much by servants and sycophants that you never learned to improve your game? I mean, not like you've ever been great at sports, but really. This is pathetic."

"Oh, you want to start competing with me, eh, Squiddy? Let's try weight-lifting or rock-climbing next then. See how you do with that."

On the fourth day, as Squidward painted, Squilliam played a sweet, romantic song on his clarinet in the hallway, walking to the door, which he brushed aside with three of his feet. At first Squidward paused, turned his head up towards the ceiling, then resumed painting without looking his way, even after ten minutes of Squilliam's playing and various flirtatious gestures and touches. "Shit, you're hard to seduce, Squidward," he said under his breath.

He ran back to his room, to where his clarinet case was, grabbed a tube of cork grease and ran back to Squidward, who was still painting. Stopping before the entryway, Squilliam opened the cap and slid the cork grease across his lips, then smacked them together. He hadn't known his Squiddy could be so kinky. When he approached Squidward, who crouched near a corner painting some rocks, he straddled the other's back and gripped his paint-dripped shirt, caressed his curled legs, pawed at his swiftly painting arm. Squilliam panted, "Kiss me, baby." Squidward sniffed the air around Squilliam's mouth a little, the smooth scent of cork grease filling his nostrils. "You turned on yet, Squiddy?"

"Oh, yes." Squidward pulsed his lips around Squilliam's, lapping up all that cork grease as Squilliam kissed him and slithered his way around Squidward's body to sit on his chest.

They both gently hit the ground, Squilliam locking hands and gaze with Squidward as he said, "Ooh, you're sick. I like it, Squiddy. I like it a lot." His lips still smelled of the grease, despite Squidward's best attempts.

"Who says a lowly cashier can't have a fetish?"

"Not me," he said, grazing his teeth against Squidward's neck, growling slightly.

'Shit, I'm a cashier,' Squidward thought suddenly, the familiar thought taking on more of a panic than disquieting dejection. He hadn't been to work since three days before his suicide attempt, and had never bothered to let Mr. Krabs or anyone know, figuring that his obituary would take care of it.

He cried out at Squilliam's soft sucking and insatiable nibbling. "Oh...Squillie, I need to call Mr. Krabs about -" Squilliam bit roughly at the collar of his shirt, then proceeded to kiss him tenderly at his chest. "-aaAAooh. Seriously, Squilliam, my, ah, livelihood ooh, depends on - ohh, Squilliam..."

"Good. I'm glad you agree," he said, giving a satisfied lick up the side of Squidward's neck. "No boyfriend of mine will be forced to do fast food drudgery."

"So I'll be living off of you?"

"Sure, honey. Just think of it as financing your career."

"And I'm not your boyfriend."

"Take a look at your pants, sweetie. I think your penis would have to disagree with you."

"Okay, so maybe you're incredibly handsome, but that doesn't mean I want to be with you." Squilliam slowed the pace of his kissing. "I mean, it was great having sex with you and everything, especially since, let's face it, I haven't gotten much the last few years. But we're not boyfriends. That chapter is over. A player like you should understand that."

"I thought you said...you only did that with - people you shared a relationship with." Squilliam swallowed as he tried to maintain his composure.

"Well, what you said got me thinking. We do have a relationship of sorts, even if we're not in one. You Casanova, you still know how to pull all the right strings."

"Yes, I suppose I do."

"Squilliam? What's wrong? Something's wrong."

"You don't want to be more like me. It's because you're different that I lo..." He couldn't bring himself to say it. If he did, he would have to cry, and in front of his high school rival and lifelong lover. He hated doing that. "Stay who you are, Squiddy." Squilliam stood and began to leave the room.

"Hey! Where are you going?" asked Squidward. "We're not exactly done here, you know what I mean?"

"Oh! ...Go fuck yourself, Squidward. And set down some newspaper or something; that carpet is imported!" Squilliam slammed the door and stormed off.

Squilliam Nancy Fancyson III. For a guy with such a powerful libido, he could be one of the hardest guys to figure out.


	6. Reputations

**Methods**

_by Hg Muffin-Stuff_

**Chapter 6: Reputations**

The eighth day of his painting, when he was nearly finished, Squilliam asked him if he'd like to go to dinner at a fancy restaurant, you know, to reward him for all of his hard work. Squidward was a bit perplexed, as the only hard work he's done was the painting, and that was rather enjoyable for him.

Nevertheless, on his bed was a brand new bespoke suit, even fancier than the one he'd received before.

"Hurry, dear, or we'll be late for our reservations!" Squilliam called as Squidward struggled to get every last crease looking perfect. He wanted to look like he deserved to be in those clothes.

When they arrived, Squilliam took Squidward's hand in his as he waltzed through the double doors, the waiter and restauranteur immediately taking notice of him and his partner and striking up conversation.

The owner spoke up first. "Ah, Monsieur Fancyson! Welcome to La Vie Fantaisie. Would you and your date like to be seated by ze fireplace?"

"Uh, I'm not his date," Squidward weakly protested.

Squilliam whispered into his ear. "Oh, my apologies, monsieur. Would you and your _lover_ like to be seated by ze fireplace?"

"Why, certainly. It would be a pleasure," said Squilliam, his hand along Squidward's back to guide him as the waiter took them to their table, for Squidward had his face in his hands in embarrassment. The owner summoned an orchestra to play near them, and as Squilliam ordered from the wine list, he struck up conversation. "I loved watching you paint, darling."

"You watched me? When? I didn't see you."

"I stood in the door. You didn't seem to mind."

"I didn't notice you there."

"Perfect. Then I didn't disturb you." Maybe not at the time, he hadn't. "It was so wonderful - you exhibited a controlled, concentrated passion in your paintings - much like your sexual style." Despite Squidward's blushes, Squilliam persisted. "There is one thing your painting lacks, though. It needs orgasm."

Squidward couldn't believe that his wealthy date was presenting himself publicly in such a fashion, regardless of how secluded the atmosphere made them feel. That was perhaps the most frustrating thing about his rival - he acted so classy and sophisticated in public, but in his private interactions with Squidward (and doubtless many other one-night-stands), he was ruthlessly crass. Any chance he could get to show the world who this man - er, squid, er, squidipus - was underneath the thin veneer of refinement, he would take. "Why, Squilliam Nancy Fancyson. Commenting on my sex life and talking of orgasmic paintings at the dinner table? Have you no class or dignity?"

Squilliam cleared his throat without his cheeks ever gaining a tint of rouge. "Ahem. I was commenting on _our_ sex life, love. And there's no shame in describing the experience of a work of art as orgasmic." Damn. He was good. And Squidward knew. He really did know. Squilliam wiggled his unibrow suggestively. "Especially if that work of art is you." Squilliam sipped his wine as Squidward bit his lower lip, blushing and crossing his legs as he raised his eyebrows. "Have some wine, baby. It's a fabulous vintage. It'll help you loosen up, too."

After a few glasses of wine and an appetizer and halfway through an entrée, Squidward relaxed his shoulders and his gaze drifted downward towards Squilliam's neatly pressed suit. "You know, I've always been desperate to impress you. Didya know that, Squillie?" Squilliam simply nodded knowingly as he refilled his own wine glass. "Can I ever be good enough for you? Be honest."

Squilliam thought about the many ways he could have answered that one. _'No, you are a terrible clarinetist and I'm much better at painting and dancing and singing than you ever will be. You're foolish to think you could compete with me.'_ Or he could have said, _'Squiddy, there is one thing you're good at - you're sensational in the sack.'_ But what he eventually landed on was, "Squidward, you've always been good enough for me." Another prolonged sip from his glass.

"Then why did you tell me not to come back until I made something of my life? That you had a reputation to keep up?"

"Squiddy, I was twenty-two. I didn't know what was good for me. Until now, I've been too proud to admit that."

That night. The night he'd brought Squidward with him to his senior recital. The way he'd ran out to the back alley of the building and tearfully tossed away into the dumpster the marriage band he was about to give in proposal to Squidward. Squidward had gone out to see if he was okay and found him standing there, crying into his shoulder. The way he'd snapped at his lover, told him to come back when he was a somebody. He had a reputation, after all. And marched back inside, leaving Squidward alone in the alley.

Squilliam's lips quivered in the memory, while Squidward rested his head in his hand as he released a forlorn sigh. _'Etiquette be damned,'_ Squilliam thought, _'I have to make this right.'_

Leaning his body over the table, his coat getting dappled in sauce, he kissed the side of Squidward's head. Softly, he said, "Squidward, I never wanted to break up with you that night." Squilliam slowly glided back into his seat.

"Why were you in that alley after your recital, Squilliam?" Squidward asked, clearly trying to conceal the depth of his curiosity.

"Throwing away our marriage."

Squidward sat straight up in his chair, his head dipped forward a bit as he stared straight into Squilliam's eyes with a cautious look. "M-marriage? We were never marrie - oh." Squidward put his hand up to his mouth.

"I had a speech memorized and everything. The finest in men's jewelry I could find, in the cutest little box. All for you, my love."

Squidward couldn't take this any longer. "Why did you mock me then! If we were supposed to be soul-mates, how come you sent me away? Marriage goes deeper than appearances."

"That's why I couldn't marry you then. I'm the kind of guy - I was, anyway - I needed their approval so badly. When they saw me bring you to the recital as my date, they - they were so nasty, Squiddy. I overheard my wealthy music school chums whispering about you, and I knew that my name would be dust if I stayed with you. I'm so sorry, Squidward, but the money and fame really were enough to make me give you up." Squilliam took a long sip from his wine glass. Squidward followed suit. "Can you believe it? They even said you weren't very good-looking. The more that I think about that night, the more I think they were simply jealous that I had such a marvelous man and all they had was their music."

"I don't care how much pressure you were under, that was a pretty shitty thing to do."

"I wasn't ready for you yet. How would you have liked me mocking you with them behind your back, just to stay with my crowd? Do you really think things would be any better between us if I'd stayed with you? I think they'd be worse. You think I'm a bitch now, you should've tried living with me in my twenties."

"I don't think you're a bitch, Squillie."

"Oh, honey, yes I am. And you do. You're just trying to be nice to me so you can tangle tentacles with me again tonight. I may be fancy, but I'm male too, don't you forget," Squilliam said, lightly stroking Squidward's hand.

Squidward stared at their hands, dumbstruck at the simple contact. He'd fantasized about a night like this for far too long. None of it crystallized as anything more tangible than a wispy trail of a dream. Finally, he cleared his throat and said, "So what does this mean for us?"

"It means whatever you want it to mean, Squiddy darling."


	7. Lilac and Lavender

**Methods**

_by Hg Muffin-Stuff_

**Chapter 7: Lilac and Lavender**

"I'm sorry."

Squilliam's unibrow tightened over his eyes, his lips scrunched up, struggling - in one of those rare moments of his - to find words. "Squidward, I..."

Squidward waited for him to continue as he stood beside their table. After seeing that Squilliam had no more words for him, he quietly spoke. "You broke my heart, Squillie." With that, he headed for the door, choking down a sob.

As Squidward walked outside along the curb, Squilliam sat in his seat, his stomach churning as his eyes followed Squidward's bobbing head on the other side of the windowpane. Again, for the second time, he was losing what he truly wanted.

Fragile. Vulnerable. Maybe Squidward wouldn't accept his love, but he needed to accept his helping tentacle.

Squilliam ran out of the restaurant, forgetting his dignity, his name, forgetting the check (though it wasn't as though the owner doubted he would pay the bill), his thoughts only on Squidward.

When he saw his departing lover crossing the street, failing to conceal his sobs, he had to admit that he felt a small bit of guilty pride for having such a strong effect on him. Whatever he felt quickly fell away when he realized that Squidward wasn't crossing at a light.

"Shit!" Squilliam briefly glanced one way before dashing into the street and pushing Squidward to the other side. "What the fucking hell, Squidward?" he screamed. "Were you just not looking, or are you trying to get yourself killed again?"

"Maybe. What do you care? You don't have a shot with me."

"Maybe not. But I don't want your entrails splattered on the street. I still love you."

"Goodbye, Squilliam."

"Squidward, no."

"Look, I already told you -"

"I don't give a damn what you told me, I want to know what you're planning," Squilliam said, unwittingly gripping Squidward's arms.

"Go away!" Squidward yelled, turning his head sharply to hide the tears dripping onto his cheeks. "Can't you hear me, Squillie? I asked you to leave."

"I need to know you'll be okay."

"I'm fine! Just go. Leave me alone, and I'll be fine."

"All right, but you look pretty torn up about this...Squiddy." Squilliam trailed a suction cup softly along Squidward's chin, whispered, "Goodbye, love," and started to walk away back towards the restaurant.

"No - wait, Squilliam. Don't go."

Squiddy. Good ol' predictable Squiddy. Squilliam reassured him, "I'll stay, darling."

"Do you really mean that?" Squidward asked, sniffling.

Squilliam sat down beside him. He smiled lovingly at Squidward, wrapped each tentacle around his, locking each suction cup in a lavender kiss, and said, "I do."

**

Author's Note: There will likely be a sequel, but probably not for awhile, both because of real life (catching up on art class and band practice and such), and because I have several prequels in the works. There is greater description in my profile, but they include **Tea at Fancyson Manor**, which occurs shortly before this fic, and **Summer Nights at Band Camp**, about Squidward and Squilliam's relationship.


End file.
